War of Tusaine: Back to Drell
by Bjornson09
Summary: Tusaine has tried to take the Drell River Valley once before, and failed. Now, fueled by a tyrant King who thinks the world belongs to him is going to take it back, and soon after, all of Tortall. This will be a true test of Jonathan's power as King, and
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own, claim to own, or want to own any of Tamora Pierce's characters, plots, etc... Will not be selling this fanfic for any amount of money... and so on.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Hey, my name is Bjornson09, and this is my Tamora Pierce story (quite obvious). It is set one year after The Realms of the Gods, and may be extremely intriguing, extremely boring, or simply hard to follow at some points. Pay attention, sit with your back straight, and try not to fall asleep during this first chapter, please.

Enjoy, readers

**Prologue:**

**Otherworld**

_Realm of the Black God_

Thom gazed quietly into the crystal ball on the heavy oak table in front of him. Thom was dead. Thom had been dead for some amount of time, but had lost count eventually. He was now doing the one thing that pleased him more than any other: watching his twin sister, Alanna the Lioness of Tortall, do the things that Alanna did. He missed her desperately, missed the world of the living desperately.

"The things I could have done!" Thom cried suddenly, pounding both of his fists onto the tabletop. "I could have walked with the Gods! I could have made such magic that the world would be amazed beyond all else. I could have saved Alanna from Roger... oh, Gods."

These sudden bouts of rage were not too exclusive. They happened on a regular basis, whenever he looked upon the living with the small bit of magic he had left. Those who enter the Realm of the Black God lose their Gift forever. Thom had lost his, Roger, former Duke of Cont'e, had lost his. Ozorne had probably lost his as well, though Thom had never seen the bastard in the Realm of the Black God—yet. Ozorne had this certain ability to show up when least wanted, or expected.

Roger he saw on a daily basis. They were practically neighbors; Roger's set of rooms was right across from Thom's. Sometimes, Thom thought he heard Roger arguing with someone in there, but had never known the sorcerer to have anyone quartered with him.

And oh how seeing the bastard of a Duke enraged him. Across from his rooms was the man who had haunted his sister's life from the ages of 7 to 17, and he still spoke to Thom as if they were old friends. Thom had half a mind to kill Roger on almost every occasion he saw him, but realized from the beginning it would be futile; no one can die that is already dead.

And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

He relaxed his balled fists and looked once more into the crystal ball. The image inside had faded to reveal a murky blackness that distorted a red-clad figure within it. Thome leaned closely to investigate the vision.

He looked at it with the keen eyes of a sorcerer, but saw nothing but a distant figure, clad in red armor. Suddenly, the picture changed—the red figure was now standing on a mountain of dead soldiers. Thom gasped as he recognized some of them.

Alanna, his sister.

Raoul, Alanna's dear friend and captain of King Jonathan's the King's Own.

Gary, Jonathan's trusted advisor and Alanna's friend.

And many other faces he knew, but could not match names to the faces he saw. Slowly, it dawned on him that the figure in red armor was actually—but no, how could it be?

The figure in red was Duke Roger of Cont'e.


	2. First Contact

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **hey, what's up dudes/dudettes? Got another chapter coming up pretty quick here. Hope that the first one didn't actually put you to sleep... but if it did, I can understand. After all, the most exciting part didn't come until the end, and it wasn't that exciting anyway.

Keep reading, and maybe I'll give you a cookie.

**Chapter one:**

**First Contact**

_Drell River Valley_

Somehow, the battle had moved away from Alanna. Which wasn't a bad thing, after all, as she didn't like the idea of having to fend off attackers as she knelt beside her fallen friend.

"Do you... do you remember back when we were pages?" Raoul asked softly, trying to keep the pain out of his low voice. But his voice had become strained with pain, the gaping wound across his chest and side seeping into every corner of his body.

Tears running freely through the sweat and grime on her face, Alanna answered, "Yes, Raoul, I remember well the days we were pages. But there will be time to talk about the past later! Hush!"

Raoul forced a smile, though it made him wince soon after. "Hush, Alanna, you know as well as I that even if a healer gets here in time, I'm as good as dead. This wound is just to serious---even if I survive, I won't be able to continue serving Tortall and Jonathan anymore… that's worse than death for me. It's no use healing me at this stage, either. The Black God already holds me in his palm, he is only giving me few precious seconds to say my last farewell."

Alanna shut her eyes tightly, wishing all of it, the battle, Raoul's pain, just everything, would go away. She groped blindly for his hand and closed her fingers around it. "Raoul, I don't want to say goodbye yet. It's just too soon!"

"Anyhow, remember when you asked Gary if pages ever got free time? Remember when he answered, 'free time? We get our free time when we're dead and gone.'?" Raoul said, his voice starting to fade and stretch thin. His voice caught in his throat and he whimpered openly, no longer holding back for dignity's sake. "Remember?"

Alanna dipped her head forward in grief. She tried not to look at Raoul's gory wounds, but couldn't help herself. They were so horrible, the color of his bright red blood clashing angrily with his bronze armor. The breastplate covered most of the wound, but Alanna knew that under it Raoul's waist was nearly cut through by an enemy's axe.

"I remember, Raoul, my gentle giant," she replied quietly, taking his head in her hands and stroking his hair softly.

Raoul was silent for several long, drawn out moments. Alanna sobbed openly, fearing the Black God had finally taken Raoul away forever. She buried her stark white face in her hands and wept into the harsh leather of her jerkin. But Raoul Goldenlake was still talking, though his voice was very strained now and he fought for every word, every breath.

"Do you... do you think that I... that I'll finally get my free time?" he asked, sad and pain rearing in his words. "Will I finally get my rest... with those that have gone before me?"

Raoul shuddered in her arms and she felt him go limp. His eyes remained open, staring vacantly into the warm summer sky. Alanna let out a string of colorful curses and wept into his hair. The grisly wound he'd received from an enemy axe blade was bleeding quite strong now, and her own armor was beginning to be dirtied by it, but she no longer cared for her own appearance.

"Yes, Raoul," she said softly. "Your free time... you shall have it now. You can go now and have your free time with Thom, and big Thor, and all the others that have died now... I will miss you dearly, my gentle giant."

Alanna dropped his head to the ground softly and recovered her discarded sword. The men of Tusaine, driven back by a successful Tortallian cavalry charge, were now further away than ever. She held clenched her sword tightly with one hand and deftly but her helmet back on with the other. Stopping herself, she glanced down at the motionless Raoul, and realized she had to do something first.

She knelt beside him again, and picked up his sword. She put it in hi hands, point facing down, and smiled slightly. It was no less than Raoul, or any other warrior, for that matter, would have wanted. To be laid to rest with his blade still clutched in his hands, the same way as he'd died. With his blade clenched in his hands.

Alanna turned away from Raoul, and charged quickly to the battlefield, not looking back upon Raoul's peaceful face. Somewhere in the withering mass of fighting, the man who killed Raoul waited. She would find him, and she would kill him.

She would kill him.

The men had wrapped Raoul's body in a clean linen sheet, after cleaning and stitching up his wound so no more blood would pour out from him. The men that Raoul commanded, the King's Own, stood in a solemn semi-circle and watched as Alanna lit the linen sheet ablaze, and delivered him, mind, body, and soul, fully into the hands of the Black God.

Alanna had hunted down the final Tusaine warrior herself. She had raced across the plains at him, striking him in the back of the neck with her sword. All of Tusaine's warriors were dead—and if the young tyrant King of Tusaine was smart, he would halt anything he had planed dealing with Tortall.

Generals did what their King commanded. Men did what their Generals said. The King took orders from no one, but rather made up his own rules as he went. It was the King that Alanna wanted. Not some terrified, doomed warrior on a plain in the afternoon sun. She wanted King Tarik, son of Lord Amir. Not a normal, mundane foot soldier, no, she wanted the King himself.

And eventually, sooner or later, she would have him.

"Haven't you died yet?"

Duke Hilam gazed at Tarik, the King of Tusaine, his liege, uncertainly. Hilam was much aware of the dislike Tarik had somehow formed for him, but to have the King just drawl 'haven't you died yet?' when you stepped into his chamber wasn't very satisfying.

"I love you too, cousin mine," Hilam sneered, knowing that Tarik wouldn't do anything. Hilam was an old man now, old and weary. He had perhaps ten years left in his life, but that was all.

He was just glad that he'd lived to see another invasion of Tortall and the Drell River Valley. The Valley was rightfully Tusaine's, and it held many riches. King Tarik wanted it for gold, but Hilam knew that the valley was a valuable foothold in Tortall that they couldn't pass up. Not if they wished to carry out Duke Roger of Cont'e's plans to the fullest.

"My liege," Hilam said, bowing, regaining his formalness. "The scouts report that the small, experimental force we sent into the Drell Valley was completely destroyed. Also," Hilam paused, searching Tarik's eyes, as if looking for an answer to an unasked question. "A man by the name of Emperor Ozorne is outside your door awaiting entrance."

"Ozorne?" Tarik said excitedly. "Well, send him in, you incompetent curs! Send in the Emperor-Mage! I have great need of his council."

The wide doors that opened into the King's chamber swung open, pulled by two door-guards.

Through the gate stepped a man who had died one year prior to the day. His long, braided hair covered a dirty and sweat covered face, and he looked as if he'd spent a few days running non-stop.

The one-time Emperor-Mage of Carthak was walking among the living once more, and he had revenge against a certain Veralidaine Sarrasri.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Alright, what do you think? Don't be shy. Review! It's the right thing to do, after all is said and done, to review a story after reading two chapters into it. Two whole chapters! We're making some crazy progress, ain't we?

Don't worry, the next chapter won't be so sad, but it will be very long. It will take all of my skill and intellect to write it, and I only hope your reviews will make me more eager to do it.

Farewell until the next time,

Bjornson09


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